Happy Fourth Birthday, Sherlock!
by thedragonaunt
Summary: This is a collaborative creation, written over almost 24 hours, during the Happy Fourth Birthday Sherlock All Day Party, held in Mrs Hudson's Kitchen to mark the fourth anniversary of the very first airing of BBC Sherlock's S1E1: A Study In Pink, on 25th July, 2010. Contributors: Elbafo, thedragonaunt, BenAddiction, Patemalah21 and AlessNox. Cover by allaboutdogsonline.


**We don't own these characters. We just borrow them - frequently. However, we always return them – eventually - and largely unharmed (save for the odd scratch – or three.)**

**This is a collaborative creation to mark the 4****th**** Anniversary of the first ever airing of BBC Sherlock, S1E1: A Study in Pink, on 25****th**** July, 2010. **

**Happy Fourth Birthday, Sherlock!**

**By**

**The Denizens of Mrs Hudson's Kitchen**

"Mycroft, go fetch your brother, would you? He won't come out."

Mycroft rolled his eyes at his mother's back and made his way into the family room where Sherlock lay face down on the couch, shutting out the world. There were people in the garden - people who had come over to wish him a Happy Birthday. They were loud, smiled at him incessantly and smellt like dead flowers.

"Come on, idiot," Mycroft said, grasping the back of Sherlock's overalls by the back straps and hoisting him, still horizontal, from the couch.

The eleven year old carried his brother like a suitcase toward the kitchen. Sherlock's arms and legs dangled downwards. He rather liked being carried this way, especially when Mycroft zoomed him around like an aeroplane. But once Sherlock realised to where he was being carried he started screaming. Mycroft set him down before the back door and knelt in front of the hysterical child.

"Look, Sherlock. Everyone's come here to wish you a happy birthday and to give you stupid baby presents. Even Uncle Rudy's dressed as a clown-fairy for you..."

That set off another round of wailing.

'Untle Wooddy smells of moffballs!' Sherlock squawked, pushing his brother away. 'I don't like moffballs!'

'But, Sherlock, it's your birthday! This is a happy day!' Mycroft soothed, trying to calm the hysterical child.

'I don't want a birfday today. I want to play Piwates!'

Mycroft spotted a bargaining opportunity.

'OK, let's make a deal. You come out and say' hello' to all the people and say 'thank you' for your presents - EVEN IF YOU DONT LIKE THEM -' he thought he had better add that, remembering Christmas, '- and then we'll play Pirates.'

Sherlock screwed up his face, considering this proposition. After several tense moments, he gave a brief nod.

'Or-wight! But if Untle Wooddy twies to kiss me, I WILL SKWEAM!'

Sherlock followed Mycroft into the garden. He firmly clamped his hands over his ears as the sounds of "Aw" and "Here he is!" interspersed with "Happy birthday, Sherlock" all reached him, in a dull roar. His mouth was downturned at the corners and he really wished he could bolt.

As Uncle Rudy loomed toward him, curly red wig and huge gossamer wings flapping in the breeze, Sherlock was about to turn tail and scarper when he spotted something very curious...

Something moved between the two tables at the end of the garden, he was sure of it. Ducking underneath Uncle Rudy's outstretched arms and leering grin, Sherlock weaved in and out of the party guests until he reached his intended destination: the food table.

But it wasn't the food that beckoned, it was the tread of four legs underneath the tablecloth that had caught his attention. Dropping to his knees, Sherlock crawled under the table, pushing through the cloth, and found himself nose to nose with a slobbering canine. The puppy yelped, as did Sherlock, and they both regarded each other before a broad grin spread across the boy's face.

"Shhh!" he ordered the puppy, pressing his index finger to his lips. "We have to escape. You're my first mate, now!"

Sherlock sat back on his haunches as the puppy playfully ran across his lap.

Two voices approached the table, and Sherlock recognised them as his parents.

"Blimmen idiot," his mother was saying.

"Well the thing ran through my legs," his father said, defensively. "It took a strong dislike to wearing a bow."

"You've lost it now. You lose bloody everything," his mother responded sharply, and their voices moved on.

"Let's go... this way," Sherlock whispered conspiratorially to his new ship-mate. He raced along the gap between the food table and the drinks table and called out again, "Come on, Wedbeard!"

As Sherlock and the Red Setter puppy scuttled off into the shrubbery, Mycroft marched over to the buffet table, where he had last seen his little brother crawling under the tent-like table cloth.

'Come on out, this instant!' he hissed, lifting the cloth with an angry flourish and bending to eyeball the miscreant in his hiding place.

But the space was empty. Sherlock was not there!

Standing back up, Mycroft began to walk away. His eyes however, caught sight of the delicious delicacies gracing the aforementioned buffet table. Before he could stop himself, he reached out and snagged a rather lovely looking piece of pork pie...

"Myke! No more pork pies!" Mrs Holmes admonished, materialising behind her eldest son. "That's at least your fourth."

"No, Mummy, it's my third. And the name is Mycroft. You do remember that, don't you? It's what you put on my birth certificate."

"Don't be smart. Now keep an eye out for your brother's birthday present. Your father's gone and lost it again. It's running around here somewhere. And if it poops anywhere near the roses I shall be absolutely monstrous."

'Oh, Mummy,' Mycroft wailed, 'the birthday present isn't the only thing that's lost!'

'What do you mean, child? Come along, spit it out! I don't have all day!' Mrs Holmes snapped, impatiently.

'I can't find my brother. He was here a minute ago but now he's gone. I'm so terribly sorry, Mummy,' Mycroft whined, hoping to assuage his mother's wrath by appearing concerned - although his main concern was that the guests had descended on the buffet table like a swarm of locusts and the food was disappearing fast!

His mother's back turned, Mycroft managed to gobble down several goodies before he headed off to look for that dratted puppy. What on earth possessed his parents into thinking a dog would be a good present? Smelly things, loaded with fleas, slobbering over everyone, Mycroft shuddered at the thought. He passed the koi pond and stopped to watch several of the fish, as they floated near the surface in hopes of a treat. Mycroft dug into his pockets and came up with the crusts of the sammie he had nipped from the kitchen, earlier.

"Here you go," he said, as he watched the gaping mouths eagerly gobble down the crumbs. "Mummy should have given Sherlock a goldfish for a pet," he told the Koi, who looked up expectantly. "Fish are clean, quiet and orderly. Not like a shedding monstrosity on legs." The fish, realizing that their treat was over, flipped their tails and disappeared into the murky depths. Mycroft sighed and looked about, trying to decide where to look next. Suddenly in the distance he saw . . .

...a flash of copper red, darting through the copse of trees, at the bottom of their garden. What on earth could that be? he wondered.

He was loath to go and investigate - he hated field work - but he also knew that Mummy would be very cross if he didn't at least make an attempt to find both his brother and his brother's new friend.

So he trudged off, reluctantly, towards the scrap of ancient woodland that had survived the land clearance, centuries before, and now provided a private adventure playground for his pesky little sibling. It was Sherlock's favourite place and the most likely spot in which to find him.

The down side was, it took Mycroft further and further from the food and, for him, that was a tragedy.

It was Uncle Rudy. Mycroft snickered when he saw what he was wearing. His mother was going to have a fit when she found out Uncle Rudy had been going through her closet again. Mycroft had a soft spot for Uncle Rudy. He walked over and greeted his eccentric relative

"Uncle Rudy, you look fetching, mauve suits you."

"Thank you, my dear boy. I was passing your parents room and noticed the closet door was ajar. Of course, I couldn't just leave it that way. People might think my sister was slovenly. I had my hand on the knob when I noticed this creation. I just couldn't help myself. I had to try it on."

Mycroft thought his uncle had an uncanny resemblance to the late queen mother. He smiled and said,

"You better not let mummy see you wearing that. You know how she reacted the last time."

"Yes, yes, most unfortunate." Uncle Rudy sighed. "Perhaps you are right, but I do so love chiffon."

"Have you seen Sherlock or a red puppy, by any chance?" Mycroft inquired.

"Oh, yes, they were down by the lower gardens just a moment ago.

Mycroft politely thanked his uncle and headed for the willow path. He was going to give Sherlock a piece of his mind when he finally found him.

Meanwhile, back at the house, Sherlock was creeping into the kitchen, though the back door. He turned to his new-found friend and put a finger to his lips,

'Ssssh, Wedbeard! Don't make a sound,' he whispered. 'If any of der gwown-ups hear us, we're scuppered!'

The puppy tilted its head to one side and gazed lovingly at its new master. Redbeard had no idea what this small human was saying but what he did know was that he would follow him to the ends of the earth, if he asked him to.

'Let's go up to der Nursewy,' Sherlock said and tiptoed up the back stairs, with Redbeard scrambling up the steps behind him.

As he and Redbeard passed his parents room, Sherlock saw Uncle Rudy standing in front of the closet. Sherlock frowned. Unca Woody was supposed to be wearing a clown/fairy costume just for him. He watched as his uncle pulled a red sequined sheath dress over his head. It was sparkly but there were no wings. Wasn't that his mother's Christmas dress from last year?

Sherlock crossed the room and picked up a pair of fairly wings from atop the clown costume, lying on the bed.

"Heah, Unca Woody, the wings will make it betta."

Uncle Rudy jumped, as Sherlock spoke, and placed a hand over his heart.

"There you are my boy! You gave me a fright!" Rudy said, as he adjusted the wings over the sequins. He looked into the full length mirror and smiled. "Yes, it did need wings didn't it? Happy birthday my boy!"

Meanwhile Redbeard grabbed one of Mummy's corsets and dashed out of the room.

Out in the garden, the guests were beginning to wonder what had happened to the Birthday Boy. Of course, they all knew that Sherlock could be difficult - it seemed to be part of his nature - but they had hoped that the child would at least have stuck around for his own party.

'I think we should have the children's entertainment, don't you, my dear?' Mr Holmes suggested to his wife. 'It will keep everyone occupied while you and I try, once again, to find our child.'

'Oh, good idea,' replied Mrs Holmes. 'But where is my brother? He said he would do some magic tricks and he came in his clown outfit, specially. Rudy! Rudy!' she called.

'Yes, dear!' Rudy's voice replied, from over by the front door.

Mrs Holmes turned to address her brother but her jaw dropped, the words froze on her lips and she stared in utter amazement.

Meanwhile, Mycroft struggled down the path to the forest. It was just like Sherlock, he fumed. Off gadding about when there was a party with food and games and food, did he mention food? This search was taking forever. There was no need in this present age for anyone to have to exert themselves physically like this. It had been ages since he'd had something to eat. He began to resent the koi for the bread crumbs he had given them. When he found his little brother, he was going to make him pay dearly for this. Mycroft was so put out that he missed the slight depression in his path. With a swoosh and an upward jerk, that nearly took his head off, he found himself tangled in a ball of netting, dangling six feet in the air.

"Sherlock! You little twat! I'll get you for this!" Mycroft screamed. "You let me down now or I swear you won't live to see another birthday! Sherlock! Sherlock! Do you hear me?"

After a half hour of calling, to no avail, Mycroft slumped in his rope prison and pouted. There was no sound except the twittering of birds and the humming/buzzing of insects. If he just had something to eat, it might even have been pleasant. The rope netting swayed in the breeze and Mycroft felt himself beginning to nod off.

'My dear, I understand you're upset that your brother has been borrowing your clothes again, but...'

'Upset? I'm not upset! I'm LIVID! He's been borrowing my clothes since he was three years old! I've completely accepted the fact that my brother is a cross-dresser. What I can't accept is that he LOOKS BETTER IN THAT FROCK THAN I DO!'

'Calm down, dear,' Mr Holmes implored. 'People are staring.'

'They are staring at Rudy, not at us. And do not tell me to calm down! I will calm down when I'm good and ready!' she huffed and pouted and huffed again.

Turning away from the sight of her brother entertaining their guests in her best dress, she gazed up at the Nursery window and gasped,

'Well, I'll be blowed! Just look up there!'

She pointed up and her husband shaded his eyes with his hand and peered in that direction, to see Sherlock, standing at the open Nursery window, looking though his telescope at the woods beyond the garden and laughing, hysterically.

'Well, at least we know where he is,' Mr Holmes chuckled. 'We just need to find the puppy, now. I wonder what he's laughing at, so heartily?'

'Who knows what Sherlock laughs at,' Mrs Holmes replied. 'That child is a law unto himself. But I'm glad we've found him. Now, I wonder what Mycroft is up to? Not like him to miss a meal but I didn't see him at the buffet.'

"Well, look who showed up!" Mr. Holmes laughed, as a small red puppy dashed across the lawn. "And just in time for the opening of the presents!"

Mr. Holmes cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted up at the nursery window. "Sherlock, it's time for you to open your presents! Come down, please."

Mrs. Holmes frowned. "What does that wretched puppy have on?" She stared in puzzlement until she recognized the mysterious jumble hanging around the dog's middle.

"Oh my God!" she whispered, in horror, as she recognized her 24hour 'Look Like Madonna' corset with the tasselled, pointy cone cups.

"Don't worry my dear," Rudy giggled and, swooping down, stripped the corset from the dog. "For my first act of magic, I shall be happy to make this lovely garment _disappear_!" He dropped the offending article of clothing onto a chair and promptly sat on it. "Now you see it, now you don't!"

"Children, come near. I have a few feats of magic to share as we wait for the birthday boy to appear." Uncle Rudy dipped quickly into his ample bosom.

Mycroft had been snoozing in his makeshift rope netting hammock, lulled by the gentle action of the breeze, dreaming of being in a boat, floating on a mirror-like lake. It was a pleasant enough dream and he might have enjoyed it, were it not for his rumbling tummy reminding him that he had missed lunch. His eyes flickered open, as he yawned and stretched, then remembered where he was.

He could tell by the angle of the rays, through the light, leafy canopy, that the sun had moved round in the sky. It was mid-afternoon. He'd been here for over an hour. Surely someone had missed him, by now.

He listened hard for the sound of his name being called by the concerned adults who would, obviously, be looking for him. But, though he strained his ears, the only sounds he heard were the singing of the birds, the rustling of the leaves and the distant drone of an aeroplane, high in the clear blue sky.

'No one cares that I'm missing,' he thought, sadly. 'No one has missed me at all. I could be stuck here for the rest of my life!'

And two large tears welled up in his eyes, overflowed his lower lids and trickled down his pudgy cheeks, as he resigned himself to his fate.

"Could someone please have a look round for Mycroft?" Mummy Holmes said.

"I've got my handful with this puppy. Maybe we can send one of the girls out to look for him."

"I know! Little Andrea can go. Doesn't she look lovely in that dress?"

"Andrea? I thought her name was something different."

"It's her brother. He has a lisp and can't pronounce the D in her name. He calls her Anthea, imagine that. Anthea darling, can you do me a favour?"

Watching from the Nursery window, Sherlock saw the puppy he had called Redbeard run up to his father, still wearing the funny bathing suit with the rocket nose cones attached to the front. He'd put that on the puppy, to turn him into 'Rocket Dog', companion to his 'Rocket Boy' persona.

He watched as Mummy pointed at the puppy. She seemed cross. And now Daddy was calling him, telling him to come down.

He thought he must definitely be in trouble for something - perhaps for the trap he had rigged in the wood, to catch the Jabberwock. But he'd caught Mycroft, instead, which though very funny to watch, was probably going to get him a good telling off, at the very least.

He wasn't keen on that idea, at all. He made a decision. He would lie low until the furore died down.

Voices Off 1:_ Poor Mycroft, I understand Anthea is afraid of the woods . . ._

Voices Off 2: _Anthea? Scared of the woods? Oh, no!_

Voices Off 1: _Something about Dread Pirate Roberts haunting it._

Voices Off 2: _Oh, no! Not the Dread Pirate Robert! And her being the Princess Bride and all! That would be scary!_

Voices Off 2: _Meanwhile, Mycroft is still hung up in the woods and Sherlock is still hiding in the..._

_(Uncle Rudy in red sequins and wings grabs up Sherlock and flies down the stairs with him._

_He drops him on the lawn to see his father smiling, holding a red dog without a bow. His mother standing next to a large cake with white icing and four lit candles. It reads_

_Happy Birthday Sherlock_

_they all begin to sing._

_But where is Mycroft? they all cry!_

_Somewhere in the woods, a scared young Anthea sees a rope. She starts to untie it, then she hears a terrifying roar (or is it a snore?) She drops the rope and runs away, as a net clatters to the ground, waking a once-sleeping Mycroft.)_

!

"Huh? Where am I?" he asks, sitting up. Moments later, his face screws up in a frown as he finds a dog in his lap, licking his face. Sherlock stands before him wearing an eye patch and pointing a wooden sword.

"You are my prisoner, ya scurvy retch. And I intend to make you walk the plank!"

Mykie! Mummy shouted as she came up the path and stood behind Sherlock, who was still brandishing the sword at his sibling.

"Where in the world have you been all this time? I give you one simple task and you disappear for hours."

"But, Mummy!" Mycroft whined, "I did as you asked." He pointed to Sherlock who was now innocently petting his birthday gift. "It's all his fault. He made me miss the party and the food and everything."

"Mycroft Holmes! You should be ashamed of yourself. A big boy like you, blaming your little brother on his birthday. Sherlock has been in the house or at the party all afternoon. What have you been up to? What do you have to say for yourself?" Mummy put her hands on her hips, arms akimbo and glared at her oldest son. "Well Mycroft?"

"At least you remembered my name." Mycroft said.

"What did you say? I'll not take such impertinence! Up to the house, now, young man. There will be no supper for you, this night, and if you don't start speaking with more respect, there might not be breakfast in the morning. Now march!"

She grabbed Mycroft by the ear and frog marched him up the path toward the house.

"Come on Wedbeard. Our work here is done," Sherlock said, as he patted the dog on its head. So the boy and his new puppy scampered back toward the house, making sure to keep well behind Mummy and a loudly squealing Mycroft.

**The End**

**Contributions from: Elbafo, thedragonaunt, BenAddiction, Patemalah21, and AlessNox.**


End file.
